


he only calls you when he needs you

by Maxeli7



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Cheating, DID!Tyler, M/M, he also has autism, its kind of dub-con-ish, so watch out, trans boy!josh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxeli7/pseuds/Maxeli7
Summary: Josh thinks too much and breathes in a litany of ways. Blurryface intends to make that breathing about him.





	

There are many things that set Josh off about a personality switch, and yet he wonders what classifies a personality switch as what it is. Is it the burning, sinking feeling in his chest, is it the hands on his hips, or the smirk that _he_ gives in that beautiful, destructive way? Maybe it’s all those things and more. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Josh isn’t sure, his head hurts. It doesn’t just hurt, it throbs. His head throbs, he has a migraine. Maybe he should make a joke about that, to Tyler, who sits next to him on the couch, watching TV mindlessly. Is this _really_ what they do when they have… nothing? Josh makes a mental note to force himself to get groceries when they’re not busy watching Golden Girls, or whatever the fuck is on. It’s a one, two punch.

One: Josh stands up.

Two: He goes to the kitchen.

The ibuprofen is in the kitchen, and that’s what takes care of headaches, Josh supposes. Do most people keep medicine in the kitchen, the man wonders, reaching up the grab the pill bottle off a cabinet shelf. Maybe a lot of them do, like a white suburban family. Not that either of them are _really_ white. That’s a weird predicament, the whole thing, but there’s no need to dwell on so much when you’re literally just taking pills to stop a headache.

The TV turns off in the other room.

“You going to take a nap or somethin’, Ty?” Josh calls, hearing no movement from the other room, wondering if maybe Tyler just wants to take a nap on the couch. That couch has seen everything, from sex, to sleeping, to vomit, to even pissing oneself on a fucking couch that they bought somewhere Josh can’t remember. IKEA? A thrift store? It sounds kind of trashy to buy a couch there, but to piss on a couch while your drunk puts good use out of thirty dollars.

There is, however, no response from the other room. Maybe Tyler just went to sleep already, didn’t bother with the whole ‘Joshua’ routine where they played each other back and forth until they were both giggling, and then laying with each other, cuddled close. Those nights were nice. Everything was nice about Tyler. He felt like something happy, something soft. Josh could relate to that, to his boyfriend who felt like a blanket just out of the dryer, or like he was sitting in the sun when he was around the other. Laying out, soft blanket, warm sun, warm…

Cold hands on his hips.

They come suddenly, cold and powerful, and that kind of shocks Josh in a whole “what the fuck is going on, what’s happening” kind of deal. It’s almost crazy, but it’s really not, because maybe since they had so many good days in a row, this whole shebang is happening. Tyler, or someone else’s, cold hands are on him, and Josh doesn’t like the way his shirt rides up to reveal little hickeys and marks on his hips from previous nights. Tyler, or someone else, leans in close and nuzzles into Josh’s neck, sending chills down his spine.

“Missed you,” a low voice murmurs. Not Tyler, not Tyler. That isn’t his boyfriend, that’s…

“Get off, Blurry,” Josh says, shaking his shoulders a bit and huffing. Wow, he dropped the pills on the ground, good job, idiot. He mostly says it to himself, no one else thinks it. Josh bends down and picks up the pills, knowing they have a clean floor, and swallows them quickly.

“Migraine?” Blurry asks, with some sweet, manipulative tone that Josh knows Tyler would hate. He shouldn’t say Tyler hates Blurry, he should say Tyler hates Blurry’s… way of going about things. Blurryface is tough and manipulative and eager to please in the worst kind of way. Josh doesn’t find it amusing, Blurry finds it _hilarious._

“Yeah, I get the, sometimes, they last awhile if I don’t do anything. Surprisingly, I’m fine, so please, get off,” Josh says. His voice starts at something of a hiss, but it kind of turns into a pathetic whine, like he’s begging to get off a rollercoaster. He feels like he’s about to crash, like the world is closing in, everything’s too loud, everything’s too much, Blurry is too close, everything’s--

Blurry shushes him, turns him ‘round and smiles that toothy grin. He doesn’t have the paint on, the black sort of soot, that infects every part of his being. It’s gross in a way, Josh thinks. It’s good on Tyler, sure, but on someone else? No way. It’s like a foreign creature if it isn’t Tyler. Tyler is the good guy of the place, really. Of everything in Josh’s life. 

“You need to calm down,” Blurry says quietly, no more than a rumble, running his fingers up Josh’s left arm, where his skin almost crawls from the touch. He doesn’t like being touched by people other than Tyler. Unless it’s a fan, or Tyler’s friend Jenna. There are exceptions to the rules that Josh has made in his bubble. “Want me to help you calm down, baby?”

The word ‘baby’ is acid to Josh’s ears. He shakes his head, then gives a mixed signal by hugging Blurry. Mostly, he wants to pretend Blurryface is Tyler Joseph, but they’re two separate beings, and it makes Josh mad in a way he can’t understand. He needs to be supportive of his boyfriend and his illness, an illness that came from something in the past that people didn’t prevent. But, at the same time, Blurry was demanding and controlling in the worst way, and sometimes it was better to not fight it. Tyler didn’t have to know about what they did, because maybe it was okay, since they were still the same body. It wasn’t cheating if it was with the same body, the same person, right?

But they weren’t the same person. Blurry and Tyler were different.

Blurry rubs his back, in comforting circles, clockwise, the way Josh likes it, and Josh melts in his arms, in a fucked up, gorgeous way. It’s a star collision, and yet it’s something else, it’s something beautiful and horrible, the way he submits to someone who he can’t call his own. Blurryface is in control, and he cares about Josh, and Tyler, and so many other people.

It makes Josh sick.

Josh doesn’t realize he’s hiding his face in not-Tyler’s shoulder until Blurry is speaking.

Maybe the voice is soothing and pleasing in a way, maybe it’s not. Blurry’s voice isn’t like Tyler’s, where Tyler stutters and stumbles upon waltzes of words, Blurry has a calm, collected tone, where everything and everyone is touched by his words. Josh almost feels at peace at a gentle voice, a strong hand, something that isn’t Tyler. As much as he loves Tyler, he also loves this peaceful, serene entity, who would also crush his head if he were to make a wrong move.

What a love story, one for the fucking masses, truly.

Josh’s hands clutch Tyler’s shirt, that he supposes also belongs to Blurry, and whoever else is in the mind of Tyler Joseph. It must be cluttered in there, Josh thinks idly, and he wonders if he should mention to Tyler that they should get him something that’ll slow down his thoughts, like Ritalin, or Xanax. It’s all irrelevant in the scheme of things, but Josh likes being helpful, even if it doesn’t really help. 

His mind is fogged, and Blurry’s hands have stopped rubbing his back, making Josh’s nose scrunch up a bit.

“Go back to rubbing my back?” Josh suggests, his face still hidden away. This feels familiar. It feels like Tyler, when Josh has sensory overload and can’t figure out his body or his mind, needs to be grounded.

Blurry’s hand stays still. “Did you even listen to what I said, Joshua?”

Josh decides he only likes being called his full first name by Tyler, preferably in a silly voice as they lay in bed. Early mornings between them are the best, where they just lay together and talk about everything and nothing. This morning it was what would happen if the apocalypse was coming, who would they save? Josh had picked Tyler, Jenna, and a dog. Any dog. Tyler had picked Josh, Jenna, and one of his beanies. Josh had pointed out that, _we would have clothes, Ty, it’s not like your beanies would disappear._ To that, Tyler declared that in the newly irradiated world, he would become a nudist who wears a beanie. 

“What did you say?” Josh asks weakly, distracted by his own mind. Part of him feels solely concentrated and agile, like a cheetah, or Ramona Flowers when she has the glowing lines around her head. He also feels lethargic and tired, in a way that he doesn’t want to communicate with anyone or anything, and just wants to get lost in the feeling of Blurryface.

“I asked if you wanted me to help you calm down?” Blurry offers once more, the rubbing starting up again. It’s to coerce one into having sex. Josh’s eyes narrow a bit, even as he smells the fabric that smells like Tyler. Tyler is like lavender and something warm, fiery, at the same time. Like smoke caught in a candle shop. Smells good? Sure, but damn, if you knock that candle over, it spreads a fire. Josh contemplates the idea of how good a candle shop setting on fire would smell. Good? Maybe? If all the candles lit on fire, there would be some plastic burning, too, right? Probably, most likely yes. So the idea of burning plastic and glass doesn’t tickle Josh’s fancy in the way he’d like to think. Maybe pumpkin spice candles with a hint of sea breeze and vanilla shouldn’t be fully set on fire and should just be used for their intended audiences.

Josh pulls his head back. “We aren’t having sex. Tyler would be mad if I even _touched_ you, let alone had sex with you or--”

He’s cut off by a kiss.

It’s crushing and crashing, and Tyler isn’t _like_ this. This isn’t how they kiss. Kissing is a fucking art, and Tyler has it down to a T in the way that Josh likes it. It starts at the neck, giggly and slow, with hands on his hips as he sits in Josh’s lap. The purple, lavender scented waves wash over them as they smell smoke from a campfire at the shore. Pine is distinct in there, somehow, and the way that kisses lead up to his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, it makes Josh smile. They’re something else, alright. Maybe mental illness, disabilities, things that cause issues are fixed by the way Tyler plays with his hair, breathes an ‘I love you’ that sounds like fucking _poetry._ His voice is scratchy and rough, yet nervous and whiny, and still it’s the voice of a benevolent god, in Josh’s eyes. He’s so in love that his heart feels like he’s going to burst, and it feels like something both powerful and hurtful all at once. _How dare you make my heart long, Tyler Joseph,_ Josh wants to say. But, in this moment, he’s drowning in a blur.

Blurryface’s hands are on his hips, pushing his shirt up, to touch his sides, and Josh can practically feel the soot pushing off of his friend of a friend. Fingertips feel like spiders, and Josh nearly pulls back, until he feels a hand cradle the back of his head, play with the soft hairs there. Blurryface is weak and yet strong in the way that he knows his common enemy, and that enemy is Josh’s avoidance of him.

“Don’t you know?” Blurry gasps back from his mouth, “Don’t you know how much I love you? So much, Joshua, so much…”

Josh’s eyes open a bit as Blurry presses their foreheads together, just looking at him with honest, narrowed vision. His head hurts, and yet his hips draw to move. They press against Blurry’s and they just stand there, with Blurry cupping the back of his head, the other hand on his hip, the two of them breathing as one. “I know,” Josh says quietly, “I-I know you do, it’s okay…”

Josh’s lip quivers as he says it. Is he scared, is he panicked, does he hurt? He wonders it all, and doesn’t really have an answer. He’s melancholic, the man decides finally. _I am melancholic._ He feels a gentle breeze of depression flutter in and move his hair, but, really, it’s just Blurry playing with the strands there. He wants his boyfriend, not this… monster. Blurry hasn’t hurt anyone, except for when he yells and screams and smashes things until Josh will hug him, shush him, coddle him like a child. Blurry isn’t an adult, or doesn’t have any age, he’s just Blurry. He genuinely does mean well, and every fan knows him in an odd way, but… but he’s not Tyler.

Josh wonders if Blurry loves him the same way Tyler does. Because, _Tyler_ wants to marry him, and Josh would accept that. But Blurry? Blurry wants the wild, quick fun. A fuck, a cigarette, an arm wrapped around Josh as he grins. That’s lust, infatuation, that isn’t fucking… love. That isn’t. And Josh kisses at the corner of his mouth, now, kissing gently to his lips, and pressing in close, playing with Blurry’s skin with gentle, warm hands. His heart aches, he wants Tyler.

Blurry, with surprising strength, lifts Josh up, sets him on the kitchen counter as they get into it, pushing things out of the way, papers and a toaster and a few glasses. Nothing breaks, thank God. Blurryface tugs at Josh’s shirt, pulling it up, over, tossing it to the side, inspecting the man. There’s the tattoo, there’s the scars on his chest, where breasts used to lie. Josh used to feel insecure about how he looked, but now it’s something else, no one cares. He feels okay. The man gives a shaky sigh, scrubbing over the scruff on his face, and taking a breath.

“Wouldn’t it be better to go to the bedroom?” he asks, nervously, quietly, not brave.

“We’re christening the kitchen, Joshua, c’mon, be brave,” Blurry says, unbuttoning the man’s jeans, shoving them down as Josh lifts his hips. Josh scrunches his nose at the mention of being brave. He likes to be brave at the _right times_ thank you very much. The idea of being brave comes at the cost of getting shit on the kitchen counter, and Josh squirms, getting his underwear down. 

When he first got on testosterone, Josh was afraid of the side-effects. Maybe he didn’t want a bigger clit, or maybe he didn’t want a happy trail, excess leg hair. It didn’t feel pretty. But, now, now he was okay with it. The soft hairs between his legs, and everything that sort of stuck out, that now made Blurry grin as he pulled Josh by his hips, grinding his clothed crotch into the mound in front of him. It’s easy to feel what he’s getting at, the bulge in his pants, a fabric covered cock, and now he grinds it in, grunting quietly. Josh doesn’t really like the whole… loud, low, angry grunts Blurry makes; he likes Tyler’s sweet moans, when he’s pegging him and fucking into his boyfriend as they both giggle, eyes barely open. 

Blurry’s hips pull back, with Josh practically hanging off the counter, a wet spot on the tip of the bulge, making Josh swallow. He knew Blurry was grinning, but part of him wondered how he’d gotten that into it. Maybe he’d thought of Tyler? Tyler was a good thought. 

But Blurry was really good at giving Josh what he wanted. 

“Look at you,” Blurry whispered, a low, almost monotone voice, “you’re soaking wet, huh, pretty boy?” 

Josh looks up with hazy eyes at Blurry’s face, nodding gently with an innocent look. He’s awestruck al-fucking-ready, and that’s what Blurry loves to see. Josh has the prettiest looks when he’s shocked into submission, then fucked until he can’t walk right. Maybe that’s good, since Tyler doesn’t do it right and Josh is too kind to correct him. Maybe they’re a little fucked up, in that sense, that they don’t talk out their issues, or, at least, Josh doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to do, and doesn’t want to cause more trouble. Josh squeaks suddenly. 

There are fingers gently opening him up, pushing in, stroking at soft walls, forcing a groan out of Josh. Jesus Christ, Blurry is far more confident than Tyler, than Josh, too. It feels odd, to have skilled fingers inside him, searching for a good spot as a thumb traces over his clit, making Josh shudder and moan. “H-here, here, baby,” Josh whispers. The name slips out. No one corrects him, not even himself. The drummer grips Blurry’s wrist, shifting up a little bit and guiding him until they get to that little ridged spot in Josh that he likes to call a prostate, not a g-spot. _”There,”_ Josh sighs heavily, heaving out the air and trying to breathe. The pad of Blurry’s fingers teases the spot, runs over it, and Josh’s thighs twitch as he tries to spread them apart further. He wants it, he wants… 

Blurry, he wants Blurry. Not Tyler. 

Josh moans, cries out and tilts his head back as he’s played with, relaxing and opening up. The fingers are deft, and now Blurry is kissing at his neck, not leaving any marks. Tyler would question it if he saw anything, so now there was this, Josh being fingered as he was kissed. It felt like something better, something good. Tyler wasn’t amazing, and it was more of the love that made the sex good, but this? This was fire, passion, and something else. 

Josh shifted, pulling Blurry’s head back, who reacted positively, licking his lips and grinning. They were kissing the next moment, crashing and biting at each other, a hand pushing through Josh’s hair, the fingers pulling out of him roughly, the hurried rush of pushing down jeans, underwear, and then Blurry gripping his cock, giving it a few good pumps and sighing into the kiss. 

Fucking Blurry is so much different than fucking Tyler. First of all, the position with Blurry is vastly different from Tyler. Sometimes he’s riding the headmate, sometimes he’s on all fours, sometimes he’s on his knees with his hair being pulled so well, making his lips a bright red as he sucks and licks and glances up like a fucking _pornstar._ It feels different, it feels good, but he would never tell Tyler that what they had wasn’t special. It was good, they were good. Everything was… good. 

The lining up, and the first push in as Josh’s hips got tugged forward with a growl from Blurry was primal, and territorial. Was the guy actually mad he was with Tyler, not with him? Maybe. So, Josh, moaning into the kiss, wrapped his arms around the singer’s neck, feeling every inch move along as Blurry grunted, bottomed out. It wasn’t hard to do, with how wet the other was, soaking and easy to slide into. Blurry pulled back from the kiss, panting quietly and grinning brightly. 

“You like that, huh, pretty boy?” he grunted, pulling back a bit, just to fuck, thrust, back in. 

Josh squeaked and buried his face his face into Blurryface’s shoulder, at a loss for words. Fuck, this was so rough, and the sounds were fucking _obscene._ The whole act was, actually. All of it. The drummer almost whined, got into that tone that Tyler thought was hilarious, and that Blurry thought was hot, but, he bit his lip instead. Jesus Christ, everything was… weird. Blurry’s term of endearment, ‘pretty boy’, it was something a wolf would say to a little lamb before it gets eaten. Maybe Josh will get swallowed up tomorrow, gone without a trace and he won’t be able to breathe, or think about Tyler, and he’ll be swimming in seas of a trance. He swims further, they row on, into nowhere. The thought makes Josh scared. 

Back in reality, he can distantly feel Blurry grunting as he’s fucked, hard thrusts and the smack of skin, with the occasion of dirty talk. It makes Josh feel a little sick, because God, it feels nice, but God, he feels fucking sick and disgusting. He’s cheating on his boyfriend, essentially, even though it might not be considered that. One body, one heart, two minds. Blurry’s lips are on his neck and he has to breathe out in a moan, his nails digging into the man’s neck as he endures a particularly hard thrust. Tyler isn’t like that. The one time Tyler fucked him, they both ended up scared and confused on what to do. Tyler wasn’t confident, and Josh didn’t feel like his body was right. 

But that was when they were younger. Josh dares to wonder what it would be like now. Maybe Tyler had found his heartbeat, and maybe Josh was losing his. Josh’s nose scrunches up as he presses close and hides himself. He lets out a quiet sob, and feels amazing at the same time. _Too much,_ his mind yells, _you can’t do this anymore._

Blurry, while still fucking his little prize, his lamb, his pretty boy, cups the back of Josh’s head. 

“It’s alright, I’m here,” he murmurs, a low rumble. Josh whimpers and hiccups. “I’m here, baby, I’m here… Doesn’t it feel good?” His pace is slowing, and it’s just the soft breathing of them in the air as Blurry slowly moves his hips, pets Josh’s hair and calms him down. It’s like coddling a fucking child, and Josh, should he have been in the right state, would’ve taken it as an insult and tried to talk down to the headmate. It’s a battle, it’s a war. Josh feels a thrust into the right spot and gives a watery moan. 

“I want Tyler,” Josh chokes out. Blurry’s hips stall. 

“I’m better than Tyler,” he says, as they stand, frozen in time. 

Josh pulls back, his eyes tearful and lips bitten and sore, and he just looks into Blurry’s eyes. 

Tyler’s eyes. 

Blurry’s eyes. 

Josh swallows. He licks his lips. Blurry stares back. They’re locked in a checkmate. If Josh admits Blurry is better he damns his boyfriend, and if he admits Tyler is better, he damns himself. 

“Make me forget,” Josh finally whispers, “Make me forget about what I’m doing.” 

Blurry kisses him, and Josh silently admits this is what he wants. His heart pounds in a session that isn’t a rhythm so much as a catastrophe of living. Josh is picked up, moved, pressed against a wall. The counter is wet and Josh frowns, glancing at it over Blurry’s shoulder, making a mental note to scrub the whole kitchen, now that it’s all dirty. Blurry grips Josh’s thighs, holding them up as he grunts and thrusts up, as Josh holds up and doesn’t make too much noise. They don’t have neighbors to wake up, but Josh wishes they did so he could report this issue to someone. The issue of regret and his head still hurting. 

Lavender and smoke and pine. 

Josh sighs, his thighs twitch, and he pushes out an almost forced orgasm, just to get this over with so he can wallow in what the fuck he’s done, his mouth open in a little silent moan, toes curling. 

“Look,” Blurry huffs, giving another hard push inside, “at you. You’re so good for me, pretty boy. I love you, Joshua, I love you. Say it back to me.” 

“I love you,” Josh gasps, and his heart feels like it’s stilling. His head hurts, he hides his face again. 

Blurry fills him so nicely, and Josh squirms uncomfortably before he’s set down, and bit of _that_ dripping down his thigh. The drummer looks at the other with wide eyes, rubbing at one. He wants to be brave, he wants to be. He hates Blurry’s grin, he hates everything about him. He hates that he cheated, and he hates that Tyler doesn’t know, and he hates himself, and Blurry, and this fucking illness, and the fact that he can’t understand things sometimes and doesn’t pick up on the fact that he’s being manipulated. He hates that the smell of lavender can be replaced by the smell of cheap paint, and that the smell of smoke is replaced with gunpowder, and that pine is now cottonwood. His head hurts, he rubs at his eyes. 

Blurry takes his hand. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright, pretty boy?” 

Josh yanks his arm away with a surprising amount strength. 

“I want you gone,” he whispers, “I don’t want you near me anymore.” 

Blurry would look hurt, if he had an emotion other than ‘smug asshole'. 

Josh pushes past him, into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door. 

He has his breakdown then, sobbing and yelling. It’s a firecracker burning, and now it’s finally exploded. It’s exploded with Josh yelling and trying to control something he can’t as he shakes and kicks his legs with his back against the door. He hasn’t had something like this since he was six years old and his mother had to politely explain to a nice clerk at a grocery store that her daughter was fine and that the music was just too much for her. There was some understanding, in that small town, that Joan Dun was a little bit of a basketcase and that her parents were trying _very_ hard to fix her. Josh didn’t want to be fixed, and now as he sobbed and sunk into a position on his back on the cool, bathroom tile, he stared up at the ceiling, sniffling and shaking. Maybe everything was too much and he should just avoid Tyler all together. Maybe he should scream and shout and get his way. It would feel good, almost euphoric, and Josh nearly wants to rip out his hair and cry louder, until he’s noticed and until he calms down. 

But instead he stares at the ceiling. 

There’s a knock at the door, Josh doesn’t respond. 

“Josh?” Tyler calls. 

Josh closes his eyes. 

Lavender. 

Smoke. 

Pine. 

**Author's Note:**

> did u know i can write sometimes??? who KNEW


End file.
